Wherever It Can Be Found
by almost-out-of-minutes
Summary: Castiel wants to show Dean something he may have forgotten. Set between 8X07 and 8X08.


**A/N: Please read the author's note at the end, it explains some things I thought needed to be explained.**

"Dean."

The voice is different than the one in his dream. It's more agitated, more excited. Not nearly as comforting as the calm, confident tones that speak of perdition and God and free will.

"Dean. Wake up."

This voice is like a child on Christmas morning, and it's annoying as hell. Squeezing his eyes shut, he rolls over and hugs a pillow to his chest, trying to fall back into oblivion.

But it doesn't work. Like the tail of a comet, he's dragged back into consciousness against his will, and he frowns in irritation.

The mattress dips under a sudden weight, and blind instinct takes over. Within a fraction of a second, the pistol under his pillow is cocked and in his hands, the barrel trained on the figure at the foot of his bed.

Eyes wide in alarm, Castiel recoils at the sight of the firearm. He has one knee on the edge of the bed, his arm outstretched to touch Dean's leg, but soon he's back on his feet, hastily putting distance between him and the hunter. "I apologize," he stammers, "My intention was not to startle you."

It takes a moment, but Dean eventually convinces his tense muscles to relax. His grip on the gun slackens. "No, Cas, it's okay," he says, looking down at the pistol and flicking the safety back on.

He glances at the motel's cheap-ass alarm clock. Normally, he'd tear the angel a new one for scaring the crap out of him at two in the morning, but he doesn't have it in him right now. After a year of sleeping in a monster-infested forest, he's become accustomed to surprises. He'd rather it be Cas than a Leviathan.

"What is it?" he demands, voice cracking with sleep. He rubs one eye blearily.

"I want to show you something." Castiel walks around the edge of the bed until he's standing right next to him. Without warning, he touches two fingers to the hunter's forehead, catapulting them through the celestial wavelengths.

With a flutter of wings, they appear in the middle of a clearing. Dean's boots sink into a deep drift of snow, upsetting his balance and nearly toppling him to the icy ground.

He thanks whatever god is listening that he's taken to sleeping fully clothed; he'd rather _not _have to deal with frost-bitten toes right now.

"Where the hell are we?" he asks, gaze roaming over the dark, ominous clearing. With tall, snow-covered pine trees looming over them from every angle, Dean can't help but feel paranoid and claustrophobic. Scattered memories of Purgatory flash through his brain like a film reel; the oppressive gray atmosphere, the smell of sweat and decay, the sound of far-off screams drawing steadily closer and closer until-

"The Rocky Mountains," Castiel answers vaguely. Dean narrows his eyes at the angel, but it goes unnoticed; he's too busy gazing up at the sky, something reverent in his expression.

He waits for an explanation, but none are forthcoming. "Why are we in the Rockies?" he prompts.

"The stars. They're beautiful tonight, aren't they? Abnormally so." Castiel squints up at the sky, head tilting to the side.

The gesture is so simple, so familiar. Dean can't look away, some unnamed emotion clawing its way through his chest.

Some things never change. They've survived angels, demons, Leviathan, even the goddamned apocalypse, and Castiel _still _looks like a puppy.

"Dean?" With a start, the hunter realizes that, this time, his staring has not passed unnoticed.

"Why'd you bring me here, Cas?" he asks, his eyes and his voice softening considerably.

"The stars, Dean. I want you to look at the stars."

Wary and uncertain, Dean doesn't comply. "Why do you-"

"Just do it." There's a hint of impatience in the electric blue gaze aimed his way, and the commanding tone brooks no argument. Feeling like a bug under a microscope, he raises his eyes to the endless night sky.

The stars are truly wondrous tonight. So far from civilization, their bright lights are unhindered by man. And after a year of running and clawing their way through hordes of bodies just to survive, it's nice to be able to look up and simply stare.

There are thousands of little pin-points. Some tell stories, some provide points of guidance, and still others inspire awe with their furious light. Constellations paint pictures in the sky, planets glow with the intensity of their nearness, and hanging above it all is the moon. The bright, round, full moon.

And with nothing to distract them, they see it all, a grand picture that steals their breath away.

Dean's eyes widen, his mouth falling open slightly, and Castiel is glad. After everything the hunter has been through, it is satisfactory to know that he can still find beauty in something so simple as the night sky.

That was what he wanted. To show Dean a beauty that they had both forgotten, to prove that this world does not exclusively deal out ugliness and pain. There are miracles all around them, they just have to slow down and look.

The angel's motives are not entirely pure, though. Part of him -the part that sees the weariness and anger and pain in the mortal, and aches over it- wants to make Dean smile again. He hungers for the toothy grin, the lines at the corners of his eyes that tell of a life spent laughing in spite of the death and hurt.

He wants Dean to be happy, and more than anything, he wants to be the cause of it.

The hunter slowly turns in a circle, trying to take in as much of the sky as he can. Dean's expression is so open, so vulnerable, like he's forgotten that he has an audience. Like he's caught up in the wonder and beauty and can't seem to school his features like he usually would.

Castiel's soft smile goes unnoticed, his stare uninterrupted by a returning glance.

Part of him expected Dean to laugh in his face, to scoff at the idea that stars could have such a profound effect. To laugh this off as a chick flick moment and demand they leave. And maybe he would have, in the past. Before Purgatory, before Heaven and Hell and the unbelievable losses he's been forced to bear.

Before he was forced to seize wonder wherever it can be found. Seize it and take advantage of it before the opportunity slips away.

"This is beautiful," Dean says, toothy grin finally making an appearance. Heat rises in Castiel's cheeks when the hunter turns the smile on him, eyes twinkling with starlight and joy.

The angel's chest swells with strange emotions, ones that speak of happiness and contentment and peace. Things he hasn't felt in a very long time.

Maybe escaping Purgatory wasn't such a bad thing. If he can do things like this, if he can bring a smile to a broken man's face...

Maybe it's worth it.

"Yes, Dean," he whispers, his eyes never wandering from his hunter. "Truly beautiful."

**A/N: Okay, quick edit -**** I wrote this fic before Castiel was well and truly back. Despite the Purgatory flashbacks we were given, I wasn't entirely sure how his personality had changed between Season Seven's Crazy!Cas and the present, so I operated under the assumption that he had at least some of that crazy still rolling around in his head. This turned out to be untrue, which might lead someone to believe I just decided to throw characterization out the window and write sappy sap. While I freely admit this is sappy (I sicken myself sometimes, but whatever) it becomes less OOC if you think of Season Seven's Castiel, who I always saw as sweet and peaceful and prone to things like appreciating nature. And people writing OOC annoys me, so the last thing I want is for someone to think that of me. Anyway, sorry for the long author's note, but...it's been bothering me****.**

**I hope you enjoyed it. Sorry if you didn't, I'll try harder next time. Please review, I would very much appreciate it.**

**An ENORMOUS thanks goes out to my friend Kae. She was the first to read this, and she was patient enough to reassure me and help me edit. For that, I'm hugely grateful. Thank you, Kae!**


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